“Mahal ko… bumalik ka sa akin, mahal ko…”

“Mahal ko… bumalik ka sa akin, mahal ko…!” – I screamed until my voice was hoarse in the midst of the raging waters of the Agos River, in the countryside of Quezon Province.

My husband and I held hands, telling each other to try to cross this river to reach the barangay, to meet our son who was waiting at the village entrance. However, only halfway through, the floodwaters suddenly rushed down, tearing apart our tightly held hands.

I was struggling, only in time to see the figure of Maria – my wife – being swept away… her call was lost in the white foam.

I risked my life to follow, swimming and shouting to the villagers:
– “Tulong! Iligtas ninyo ang asawa ko!”

People rushed over, throwing ropes, pulling the boat… but all they could do was pull me up. Maria… disappeared in the vastness of the raging waves.

I collapsed on the riverbank, trembling until numb. In my head, the promise from earlier echoed: “Mahal ko, pag lampas natin sa bahaging ito, makakasama na natin ang anak sa bayan.”

The truth revealed on the banks of the Agos River

That night, Maria was found stuck at the base of a tree by the sandbank. I rushed to hug her cold body, crying my heart out.

But then… when people pulled out the backpack Maria was wearing on her back, the whole crowd was stunned. Inside were not clothes or any belongings, but… a large bag full of loan documents and pesos in cash. On top was a hastily written letter, handwriting shaky:

“Mahal ko at anak natin, patawarin ninyo ako… Hindi talaga ako nagtratrabaho sa malayo tulad ng sinabi ko. Nangutang ako para mag-invest, ngayong lubog na sa utang. Plano kong lumangoy sa ilog, tumakas sa mga pinagkakautangan… pero hindi na ako nakapagpaalam.”

I was stunned. It turned out that the trip to “go home with my child” was just a last-minute lie Maria told to hide the terrible truth.

I was both sad, angry, and desperate. My tears fell, wetting the letter, mingling with the howling rain and wind outside.

“Mahal ko… kung sinabi mo lang sa akin nang mas maaga…”

That tragic story became a reminder in the barangay: do not hide from the person you love, do not carry debt or fear alone. Because sometimes, just one truth told early can save a life

After the Flood – The Husband and the Burden of Truth
The First Days of Loss

After Maria’s funeral, the small house in Quezon Province became strangely cold. Every night, I heard my wife’s voice calling out to me amidst the rain and the river. Every morning when I woke up, I looked to the side, saw the empty mat and my heart ached.

My son, Emilio, only ten years old, kept asking:
– “Tatay, bakit hindi na babalik si Nanay?”
I choked up, just holding my son tightly, tears streaming down my face. How could I tell him the cruel truth that his mother was not only swept away by the flood, but also carried a shameful secret?

The Burden of the Letter

The letter Maria left behind became the deepest wound in my heart. I hid it carefully, not letting my son see it, but each word in it was like a knife piercing my chest: “I was planning to risk my life to swim across the river, to escape my debt without having time to say my last words…”

There were nights when I sat in front of my wife’s altar, my hands trembling as I held the letter, my mouth muttering:
– “Mahal, bakit? Kung sinabi mo lang sa akin, baka naligtas pa tayo.”

Community gossip

In the barangay, the story about Maria spread quickly. Some people sympathized:
– “Poor Nanay Maria, she must have been under a lot of pressure to do that.”

But there were also harsh whispers:
– “Hiding her debt from her husband, and then going to her own death.”

Every time I went to the market, I heard those words, my heart ached like a knife. But I gritted my teeth and kept quiet. I knew, Maria was not bad. She was just weak before the burden of life.

Finding balance

As time passed, I realized that I could not keep falling down. Emilio needed a strong father. I started working: working as a construction worker during the day, and repairing things in the neighborhood at night to earn extra income.

Every weekend, I took Emilio to the banks of the Agos River, where a small cross was placed in memory of Maria. I taught him to pray:
– “Please ask God to let Nanay rest in peace. No matter what, your mother still loves you with all her heart.”

Emilio clasped his hands, his innocent eyes looking at the rushing water. In that moment, I understood that the only thing I could do was to raise my son well, so that Maria’s love would not be in vain.

The community’s re-evaluation

A year later, during the village fiesta, the parish priest told Maria’s story to all the parishioners:
– “We should not judge. Everyone in life has moments of weakness and mistakes. The important thing is that we learn to forgive and love, so that the tragedy will not repeat itself.”

Those words brought tears to my eyes. The barangay people began to change their perspective. They no longer criticized, but came to visit and help my father and son. Neighbors even took turns cooking and looking after Emilio when I was away at work.

Open Epilogue

Now, every time I look at the picture of Maria on the altar, I no longer feel angry. Instead, I feel pity, and a silent promise:
– “Mahal, don’t worry. I will raise Emilio to be a good person, and I will teach him to never hide the truth from the person he loves.”

Because the greatest lesson that tragedy leaves behind is not pain, but awakening: love and truth must always go together